


Once Upon a Cornflower Hill

by binarysunsets



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Elf Niall, Fluff, Kidnapped Louis, Knight Harry, M/M, Magic, Prince Louis, Warrior Liam, wizard zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 04:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13182345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binarysunsets/pseuds/binarysunsets
Summary: “My son has been torn from us by that evil witch Simona,” said the queen to Sir Harry, who knelt before her in the throne room. “You will rescue him.” She would accept nothing else.“As you command, your majesty.” Nor would he.Or, something of a fairy tale, in which Harry is a knight, Louis is a prince, Niall is an elf, Liam is a warrior, Zayn is a wizard, and only through their combined efforts can they rescue Louis from the witch who stole him away the day of his eighteenth birthday.





	Once Upon a Cornflower Hill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hilarry13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilarry13/gifts).



> For the prompt: "Prince Louis is kidnapped by the evil witch on his 18th Birthday. Harry is his (clumsy adorable) knight in shining armor who comes to his rescue but he can't do it alone he has a help from his friends the Elf Niall, Barbarian Liam and Wizard Zayn. And then when they do get Louis they have to escape from the with from getting them again." 
> 
> So I was a pinch-hitter for this fic, and I decided to give a mixed fairy tale/fantasy au a go based on the prompt. I think it might have turned out more serious than was originally intended with the prompt, but I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless! There are never enough fantasy aus around, so I'm glad I was able to contribute to that number!

Once upon a time, in a land distant and strange, there sat a castle hewn of white stone upon a hill of cornflowers blue as the sky. In this castle lived a just and fair queen who ruled over her land and was loved by her subjects all, from the merchants of the bustling town in the valleys surrounding her castle to the farmers of the far reaches of her queendom. For many years the queen reigned and strove to enable her subjects to lead the best lives they could. Thus, when word spread through the land that she was with child, the people rejoiced, for such a good and kind queen could only bring into the world an heir who would be equally as good and kind as she. 

The day the queen brought into the world Prince Louis of Yorcaster one snowy winter’s eve, celebrations were held all day across the land the next morning. People danced around blazing bonfires, sung joyful carols, and shared good food and good company in commemoration and welcome of a bright future for the land. 

While festivities were held in the queendom, the queen and her husband held their own small celebration in the main hall of Bludun Castle, inviting only the royal family and their closest friends to be present when the young babe was first introduced to the world. Of soft auburn hair, warm caramel skin, and glacier-blue eyes, the sweet child possessed the heart of any who looked upon him. Showered lavishly with gifts, those in attendance ensured the babe would want for naught.

That night, as celebrations came to a close, one more gift was given—a kiss black as belladonna to the sleeping child’s brow. A curse to steal the boy away on his eighteenth birthday, for the witch Simona who stood before the child burned with fury at being spurned by the queen and king from such a joyous and wondrous event. So the witch would teach them a lesson; the queen and king would have the young prince’s childhood, but she would ultimately have his life. 

⚔♕⚔

Years passed and the young prince grew from a well-loved babe into a precocious but equally well-loved child. As a youth, he did not care for his studies, but was of a sharp wit unparalleled, and of a heart more generous and kind than the people had ever predicted. There was little doubt a fine king he would make, and the people knew with the young prince as heir to the throne, the land’s future was in good hands. 

Perhaps second only in fame to the young prince himself was the prince’s royal guard, a young man by the name of Sir Harry of house Styles. Sir Harry had served Prince Louis all his life, entering service first as a pageboy to the prince’s knightley instructor, then as the knight teacher’s squire, before finally swearing his fealty at age eighteen to the prince as the youngest knight the queendom had seen in decades—renowned across the land for both his skill as a warrior and for his clumsiness. 

Fierce as a lion and graceless as a kitten, Sir Harry captured nearly as many hearts across the queendom as his liege, for he was equally as kind, generous, and patient as the prince. And if Sir Harry was remarkably handsome, even for a knight—possessed of rich earthy hair that curled long about his shoulders and pine-green eyes that seemed to burn with a light of their own as he was—the people of the queendom thought it only apt that their prince, possessed of such attractive features, should be accompanied by somebody equally attractive as he. 

Prince Louis and Sir Harry were close, the two near inseparable, and shared an intimate relationship. Try as one might—and many did—none could pull the same laughter out of Sir Harry as Prince Louis could, and none could draw the same curled smile out of Prince Louis as Sir Harry. Complementary in temperament, they had shared many an adventure as children and many more as youths. Rare it would be to find one without the other, and so the day the evil witch Simona stole away the young prince on his eighteenth birthday, a shock like no other swept across the queendom and chilled it to its bones. 

⚔♕⚔

“My son has been torn from us by that evil witch Simona,” said the queen to Sir Harry, who knelt before her in the throne room. The silver of his armour glinted in the slants of weak winter sun shining through the great hall’s high windows while the blue of his cape fanned out behind him. Engraved into the breastplate of his suit was a portrait of a honeybee, similar in design to the one embroidered in gold in the centre of the back of his cobalt cape. Sir Harry’s hair, curtained around his face at his bowed head, blazed bronze. The queen’s voice was thick with terror and outrage, and it quivered as she spoke. 

“Yes, your majesty,” Sir Harry said. His own voice was hoarse, and he could not raise it above a harsh whisper. 

“You will rescue him.” She would accept nothing else. 

“As you command, your majesty.” Nor would he. 

The queen was silent a moment, before she quietly spoke once more. Her voice now was steeled, but it held an underlying compassion. “When you return with my son, you shall have his hand and, when his time to reign has come, you too shall wear a crown as his king consort. I would have no other at his side for the rest of his life than one who has made good on his vows to protect my son and this land with his life.” 

Sir Harry could not help but raise his head briefly at this declaration, eyes flicking up to meet the queen’s before he lowered his head and gaze once more, for it was not one he had ever expected to fall upon his ears.

“It would be my honour, your majesty,” he said finally. 

“It will be done,” the queen said, “but first you must return to me my son. I can offer you nothing but this advice: journey to the moors and seek the fair folk who live there. Only they possess the means to kill the witch, for she was once one of their own.” 

“Thank you, your majesty,” Sir Harry said. 

“May the gods grant you speed and good fortune, Sir Knight. Go—save my son. Already he has been too long gone from these halls.” 

⚔♕⚔

Mounted upon the white back of the fastest steed in the kingdom, Sir Harry raced across the valleys and through the woods, up and over the hillsides and onwards to the moorlands which sat at the edges of the queendom. He did not stop for rain nor wind nor hail and rested as little as possible, and soon he had entered reaches of the kingdom which were sparsely populated by humans of any kind. These lands belonged to the wild creatures which commanded them, and those beings who existed between the sparkle of sunlight on the ocean and the whispers of wind through the heatherfields. 

In all directions the moorlands sprawled outward, endless. Sir Harry dismounted his steed, and was alone. 

The knight let his eyes fall shut and took a moment to steady his breathing and collect his thoughts, for the queen had sent him here and she would not misdirect him. Much as the moors might seem empty, there were those here who could help him save the prince. When he opened his eyes once more, he saw a ring of stones a short distance away. He approached it, but did not dare enter. Just as the knight was about to call out for somebody, anybody, the unidentified shriek of a bird captured his attention, and he turned his head, gaze sweeping the horizon for the source of the noise but finding nothing. 

“Hello, Sir Knight.” said a voice, and Sir Harry’s attention was drawn back to the circle in front of which he stood. 

In the circle now resided a young man, fine in build, of stormcloud blue eyes and tousled bark-brown hair. The clothes he wore draped over his frame in swathes of fabric of mossy greens and slate blues, and Sir Harry had difficulty discerning where the moorlands ended and this young man begun. 

As Sir Harry took in the young man’s presence, the young man tilted his head and a grin curled his lips as the hair fell from around his ears to reveal their tapered ends. 

“Are you of the fair folk?” Sir Harry asked. 

“I am,” the elf nodded and considered Sir Harry’s appearance before he said, “You may address me as Niall. You are far from the castle grounds, Sir Knight. What seek you from us?” 

“The evil witch Simona has stolen away Prince Louis, and I am on a quest to save him from her. The queen told me only the fair folk would know how to defeat her, for she was once of the fair folk as you are.” 

The elf Niall’s expression soured, and distaste coloured his voice when he said, “Indeed, your queen is correct. The witch was once of our own, but she was long banished from our domain.” The elf paused, considering his words. “I know how to kill her, and will give you the means with which to do so, but you first must do something for me in exchange for what I will to you give—a bargain.” 

Sir Harry bit the inside of his cheek. It was unwise to bargain with the fair folk, but he lacked any other alternative. “Very well. A bargain.” 

Another grin spread across the elf Niall’s face and he said, “Good. I would ask that you find the heart of these moors and bring it to me. In exchange, I shall give you the arrow which you must use if you wish to defeat the witch. She cannot be slain by any other means, for this arrow was crafted by those who were once her people, and we guard our secrets jealously. If you cannot bring me the heart, I will not give you the arrow.” And with that, the elf Niall vanished with a lick of wind, and Sir Harry was once more alone.

However, Sir Harry refused to let himself be overcome with the wave of despair which coursed through him at the elf’s bargain, for he had not the faintest idea where he might find the heart of the moor or what it might be. For the prince’s sake, he had to persist. 

Sir Harry wearily ran his gloved hand over his eyes and took a steadying breath. When he opened his eyes one more, he spotted a rock formation he had not noticed before, up one of the slopes of the moors. Having no other ideas, Sir Harry approached the odd landmark, stumbling only a few times as he picked his way over the rugged terrain. 

Four large rocks arched above a clearing on either side, cradling the pile of rocks in the centre. Sir Harry frowned as he observed the scene, for there was something about this formation which struck him as unusual. It was in counting the rocks on either side of the clearing which made clear what it was about the rocks that struck him so—the arched rocks called to mind a rib cage. At this realization, Sir Harry further realized, then, that the heart which he sought must be beneath the pile of rocks at the centre of the clearing, for that is where the heart would be cradled. 

Carefully but with haste, Sir Harry moved the stones from the pile and, sure enough, at the bottom was a lump of pure iron in the shape of a heart. 

“The heart of the moors," Sir Harry breathed, and scrambled to return to the circle of stones and present the heart to the elf Niall. He dared not waste even a shred of time. 

“Niall!” Sir Harry called, “I’ve brought you the heart as you requested. I would wish for you to now uphold your end of the bargain!” 

“And I intend to, Sir Knight,” the elf said when he appeared once more, the grass and curling with the wind around his feet. “But you must first show it to me.” 

Sir Harry proffered the heart of iron, and Niall’s eyes darkened while his lip curled in disgust. “Yes, you have indeed found the heart of the moors.” The elf curled his fingers, and with another gust of wind, he opened his pal to reveal a single arrow, the head of which glinted a dull gold and the body of which was made of the reddest wood. “As we have bargained, the arrow for the heart. This arrow is enchanted and will defeat the witch as requested. In return, I would ask only, Sir Knight,” Niall paused and Sir Harry halted his movement towards the arrow, “that you take that iron heart with you when you depart. It has only served to poison my kind here in the moors and,” a smile flitted across the elf’s face, “I think you shall find it will a fine blade for you make.”

Sir Harry paused, but nodded, and took the arrow from the elf. “Then I thank you, Niall, for the arrow and the heart, for both will serve me well.”

Niall bowed his head in acknowledgment and said, “Now go take your steed and follow the path between those two stones,” he gestured to two large boulders which bordered a faint, winding trail. “It will take you where next you must go. You do not have time to spare, for I know this witch, and for every moment wasted she is a moment closer to stealing your prince’s light and life for herself.” 

Sir Harry frowned but nodded again and, mounting his steed, spurred the two of them between the two boulders. 

In a final sweep of wind, the elf Niall vanished once more. 

⚔♕⚔

Though Sir Harry and his steed had set foot on the path between the boulders when they were in the moorlands, they passed the boulders and the path deposited them at the foothills of the mountains to the east of their lands. When Sir Harry looked back over his shoulder, he could not see the moorlands, though the boulders and the path had not vanished. Sir Harry frowned and bit his lip. It had been the magic of the fair folk, he was sure, but rare was it that one ever directly experienced it in one’s lifetime. 

For some distance, Sir Harry and his steed walked along the foothills of the mountains. The rock bases of the mountains towered above the knight’s head, and he and his steed could diverge little from the path they had been set on. Curling against the slivers of azure sky that he could see, Sir Harry noticed the faint blue-grey hue of smoke, and he soon realized the path was guiding him and his steed toward the source of the smoke. Little vegetation grew on such rocky terrain, and Sir Harry surmised that the elf had sent him to meet with one who would further aid him on his quest to save the prince. 

His instincts proved correct, for shortly Sir Harry approached a young man sitting at a campfire, in which roasted a pork hock on a stick. At the sound of his steed’s hooves, the young man’s head rose and he spotted the knight. 

“Greetings, fellow traveler. You seem a long way from hearth and home,” the young man said, noting Sir Harry’s weighty silver armour and his still-vibrant blue cape. 

“Aye, that I admit I am,” Sir Harry conceded. Closer to the young man, now, Sir Harry could see he was brown of hair cropped short, and of eyes browner and warmer still. A fallen tree, long since dead, lay near the the fire and it was on this log the young man sat. Beside him rested a large, dual-bladed battleaxe which, though scratched and chipped, had a polished gleam. Near the young man’s feet was his helm, from which protruded two horns, of what origin Sir Harry could not tell. Compared to his own, the young man’s armour relied heavily upon leather, with only his pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves being made of a metal . Lining his helm, shoulders, wrists, and ankles, however, was a thick brown animal fur which Harry could not identify but could only guess had come from a bear or wolf. Sir Harry could not locate any coat of arms, and he could only assume the young man held no allegiance for any one master. 

At a flicker of the fire, Sir Harry noticed the glint of a gold blade strapped to the young man’s waist, and knew why the elf Niall had sent him here. 

Sir Harry’s eyes met the young man’s again over the fire, and a knowing look flitted almost imperceptibly across the young man’s face. “I am known to others as Liam. Would you care to share a meal? There’s plenty for the two of us, and I’ve water for your beast.” 

“I would, my thanks to you,” Sir Harry said, and settled his steed before taking a seat next to Liam. Sir Harry accepted the proffered meat, and the two ate in silence while Sir Harry periodically glanced at the knife at Liam’s waist. 

Finally, Sir Harry said, “I would make you a bargain.” 

“For the knife,” said Liam. 

“For the knife,” Sir Harry affirmed, though Liam had not asked a question. 

Liam nodded. “I had thought it might be so. It was never mine to possess. Consider it yours. However,” Liam paused, “I would have you do me one favour before I relinquish this knife to you.” 

Sir Harry inclined his head, having expected as much, and waited for Liam to continue. 

“In these mountains exists a single rose, red as blood, and I would have you retrieve it for me. Only those true of heart and of intentions good may find this rose, and it is only on to one who possesses these qualities that I will pass this knife. If this knife is meant for you, you shall bring me this rose—and you shall bring it before nightfall.” 

Sir Harry’s eyes widened and he startled at the mention of nightfall. Though the sun was not quite yet at its zenith, it fell quickly during winter, and he feared for the odds of his success, for the mountains were vast and dangerous. 

“Then I shall begin my search immediately,” Sir Harry said, belting his sword and heading deeper into the mountain. 

The knight wandered aimlessly for some time while his mind sought a solution. It was not possible to search the breadth of these mountains before nightfall, but neither were there any discerning features which might suggest the rose’s true location. 

Just when Sir Harry began to feel that his panic might overwhelm him, a flutter of blue caught the corner of his eye. A butterfly had found its way into the mountains, and Sir Harry wondered fleetingly for what the creature might be searching. He watched it bob deeper into the mountains a moment, and wished desperately that he might experience the same serenity the butterfly appeared to experience as it fluttered through the air. 

It was only as the butterfly had almost vanished from sight that Sir Harry realized what it was the butterfly might be seeking, and he scrambled after the creature, over jagged slopes and through narrow crevices until he came upon a small alcove, hidden from view, which proved his guess correct. 

Just as Liam had described, the rose was red as blood, and Sir Harry noted that it was the only one of its kind growing in this alcove, with the sun pouring in from the circular opening in the rock above the flower. 

Sir Harry almost wished he did not have to displace the rose, but all else in the world paled in comparison to the prince and Sir Harry’s quest to save him from the evil witch. 

As such, he carefully snapped the stem of the flower, separating it from its roots which were firmly lodged in the rock whence it came before returning to Liam and the campire. The sun was rapidly falling from the sky, and Sir Harry refused to fail this task because he could not return at the agreed time. 

Sure enough, Sir Harry arrived back at the campfire with he estimated an hour to spare. He had been close, but he had succeeded, and that was what mattered. He needed Liam’s golden knife, and he would not leave before he had it. 

At the sight of the rose, Liam’s face broke into a grin. “So you retrieved it after all.” 

Sir Harry nodded and said, “I did,” glancing at the gold knife lying now across the log beside Liam. 

“And as promised,” Liam said, “the knife is yours.” He passed the knife to Sir Harry and said, a knowing look flashing once more across his face, “You shall need it.”

Sir Harry frowned lightly, but elected not to comment. Instead, he said, “Thank you.” 

Liam waved off his apology. “Your thanks is unnecessary. It was a bargain we made and a bargain we both fulfilled.” A good-natured smirk curled Liam’s lips and he continued, “I would offer to share one last meal, but I sense you must be on your way.” Liam gestured through the mountains and said, “Follow that passage through the mountains. It will take you to a boat, enough to carry you and your animal, and it will take you where you must go.” 

This time, Sir Harry’s thanks was genuine and heartfelt, and he was certain the relief that flooded through him was obvious to Liam. Waving one last time to him over his shoulder, Sir Harry entered the mountain pass, leaving Liam, who appeared to flicker with the shadows and the flames both, alone around the campfire. 

⚔♕⚔

As Liam had promised, there had been a boat docked at an inlet and waiting for Sir Harry and his steed. Just as when he had left the moors, the mountain pass, on which he had only travelled for a brief period, vanished from behind him once he had arrived at the boat. In the distance, he could see an island on which sat a large tower and, seeing no other obvious landmarks, Sir Harry led his steed onto the boat and set a course for the island.

The distance from the shore of the inlet to the dock on the island was not a long one, and Sir Harry was shortly docked at the island and leaving his steed to graze at the green grass which grew aplenty. 

There was a sloping path which led to the tower, which was of stone blackened by the salt of the surrounding ocean water. Dreary though it might first appear, the warm glow emanating from various windows of the tower indicated at least one person inhabited this island tower, and Sir Harry was resolved to learn more. 

The sloping pathway led to a wooden door worn smooth by the wind and salt. On the door was a lion’s head knocker and, after waiting a moment should somebody have sighted him from the tower windows or announced his arrival to the master of the tower, Sir Harry took matters upon himself and knocked the ring of the door knocker on the door. Upon impact, Sir Harry noticed strange markings in the stone around the door and along the door frame light before the door swung open. 

Expecting to meet perhaps the master of the tower, Sir Harry was much surprised to find nobody at all had welcomed him inside. He reasoned it might only be the age of the door which had prompted it to swing open of its own volition, but the white glow of the markings on and around the door persisted in his thoughts. Hand loose at his side and the hilt of his sword near, Sir Harry cautiously entered the tower. 

“Greetings,” Sir Harry called out into the home. “I come bearing no ill will.” Whether or not there was anybody else in the tower with him that instant was unimportant, he decided, for the tower showed clear signs of recent habitation. Candles were lit in sconces in the walls, and platters of food left unfinished out of what appeared to be distraction sat on tables and atop stacks of tomes and scrolls—of which there were many. Further still, none of the food appeared to have begun to spoil. 

Sir Harry’s curiosity as to the master of the tower was quickly slaked at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. 

“Who are you and what business do you have in my home?” 

Sir Harry turned and was met with another young man, but he could not help but be struck by this man’s beauty. He looked as though he had emerged from a work of fine art, or as though one of the gods had breathed life into the famous sculptures of old. His hair was of dark colour and thick locks, and the man had skin of warmth only surpassed by the warmth in his eyes, which seemed to possess a molten gold quality. If it were not for Sir Harry’s view of the man’s ears, which were rounded as all human ears were, he would have thought the man of the fair folk for the unreal, ethereal qualities his presence evoked. 

“I have been sent by the queen to rescue her son, Prince Louis, from the evil witch Simona. I was sent here by another, who told me I would be sent where I must go. It is here, then, that I must be, and you, stranger, whom I must meet.” The young man, Sir Harry could tell, was unimpressed with his explanation. 

Sir Harry frowned, unsure how to proceed and convince this man that he was meant to be here—that it was crucial, even—until he caught sight of the man’s robe as well as the pointed hat he appeared to be holding in one hand. Both were rich velvet, and they were embroidered and stitched with all manner of gold stitching. Embroidered into the fabric, too, were depictions of stars and constellations, suns and moons, and compasses and ships. 

Just as the young man seemed prepared to send him away and proceed with whatever had occupied his attention prior to Sir Harry docking on his island, Sir Harry tried, “I am searching for somebody, somebody who is deeply important to me and to many others and I believe you might have the ability to aid me in this quest.”

The young man looked at Sir Harry inquisitively, now, and with far more interest than before. “I believe I might have what you seek, but I will require repayment. My experiments are not fleeting fancies, and should be treated with care.” 

Sir Harry nodded at this request, familiar with the rules now, and said, “So long as your device will allow me to find the one for whom I search, no price will bother me.” 

The young man nodded in return. “Very well.” He gestured for Sir Harry to follow him to the higher levels of the tower, whereupon the young man showed him a burnished gold compass. “This will point you to the one you seek, no matter the distance or magic by which the one you seek might be affected. I have designed it so. “ 

At the young man’s mention of modifying the compass such that it could not be affected by others’ magic, Sir Harry made the connection. It was with a wizard he was bargaining, and the ethereal quality that followed the young man everywhere was a result of his studies and the spells he crafted, his magic. He could only hope, then, that the young man was not lying about his compass and it would truly do as he claimed. 

“And what would you expect in exchange for this compass, then?” Sir Harry asked. 

“A ship, or at least a boat. I cannot swim, and my rafts are often lost to the wind or sea or both.” 

“You may have mine,” Sir Harry stated without hesitation. He had a feeling he would not be needing his ship any longer, and if this young man’s compass would truly help him rescue the prince, his boat was a more than fair price to pay. 

The young man considered Sir Harry for a moment longer before he pressed the compass into the palm of his hand. “Then the compass is yours, Sir Knight, and I wish you luck in reuniting with the one you have lost. Follow it and it will not lead you astray.” 

Sir Harry’s stomach twisted and he swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat at the wizard’s comments. “Thank you, wizard. I hope the boat proves to be useful to you in your many pursuits.” 

The wizard nodded his heads. “I expect that it will be. I am called Zayn, Sir Knight. Let us not part as strangers, for even in this small exchange we have changed the courses of each other’s lives on this day.”

Sir Harry nodded, and offered the wizard Zayn a smile. “I am Sir Harry of house Styles. Perhaps one day our lives will cross once more and be changed again.”

Zayn returned the smile, and said, “Yes, perhaps they will. But for now, we part. Gods be with you, Sir Harry.” 

“And with you,” Sir Harry said, and descended the winding stairs of the tower, retrieved his steed, and followed the unwavering arrow of the compass along the sandbanks of the island until he came upon an opening to a grotto, carved by the push and pull of the ocean. He could not see into its depths, for it was cast in shadows, but he glanced down at the compass once and with his steed set foot into the darkness.

⚔♕⚔

Sir Harry looked behind his shoulder and was unsurprised to see not the grotto opening through which he and his steed had entered but dark tangles of thorny vines, too thick to return home through them. He would have to be mindful of alternate solutions, then, when he and the prince would finally be making the journey home together—for they would, of that Sir Harry had no doubt. Sir Harry would accept no other alternative for the prince. Another glance at his compass showed that it continued to point forwards towards a building which he presumed to be the evil witch’s lair, and so Sir Harry, too, continued onward. 

Leaving his steed to graze hidden in the foliage, Sir Harry observed the witch Simona’s lair. Just as the surrounding wood, the witch’s lair was covered in crawling vines and dying plants. The lair, once a sturdy stone keep, now sat crumbling and destitute. It appeared abandoned, and if he had not been led here by the wizard Zayn’s compass, Sir Harry was certain the witch’s lair would have remained unmolested by visitors of any kind. 

Hand at the ready resting upon the pommel of his blade and the other gripping tight the wizard’s compass, Sir Harry shouldered open the decaying front doors and entered the keep. They swung open with a creak that echoed throughout the lair and revealed the inside of the former keep to be in a similar state of disrepair on the inside as out. Not a soul stirred inside the witch’s lair, and Sir Harry paid no heed to his growing suspicion at the absence of any other presences in favour of following the compass which indicated that he should ascend the spiraling stairs that he could see across the foyer. The witch appeared to have trapped the prince on the upper levels of her lair, and so the knight would follow—no matter what might the consequences be. 

As rapidly as he was able, Sir Harry ascended the staircase. If he had not alerted the lair’s occupants of his presence upon his entry, Sir Harry knew the noise his armour made as he hastened to rescue the prince would long have done so before he reached him. He would have little time to lead himself and the prince back out of the witch’s lair and quit the premises before Simona and any other evil servants she had would be upon them. Sir Harry would spare no thought to engaging in battle, but he prayed to the gods he would not have to do so at the risk of the prince’s life. 

Finally, Sir Harry came to the top of the staircase and stumbled into what seemed to be an open floor. On one end where the far wall of the witch’s lair had all but collapsed, natural light washed across the floor. Sitting in one slant of light was the prince, bound up in rope, and head hung forward. 

At the sight, Sir Harry could not help but cry out, “Louis!” and run to his side. 

At the sound of Sir Harry’s voice, the prince’s head snapped up. He appeared momentarily disoriented, but called out when his eyes fell upon Sir Harry and began thrashing against his bindings, “Harry!”

Sir Harry fell to his knees beside the prince and assessed the ropes which bound him. “We haven’t much time,” he told Prince Louis. Returning the compass to the pouch which hung at his waist, Sir Harry unsheathed the knife strapped to his belt. Louis’ bindings exuded a glowing light of their own, and Sir Harry knew nothing but the gold knife would succeed at liberating the prince from the magic which ensnared him. 

Sir Harry had barely undone Prince Louis’ bindings when a great shriek sounded behind them.

“Vile thief!” 

Both Sir Harry and Prince Louis jolted at the voice and turned to face its owner. The evil witch Simona stood across the open hall, grey-black hair flowing behind her and mouth twisted into a wicked snarl. Taking care to keep himself between the witch and the prince, Sir Harry drew his sword and readied himself to face the witch. 

“Do you desire death or are you merely a fool?” Prince Louis hissed from behind Sir Harry. “You cannot face her and emerge victorious, and I shall not allow you to even make the attempt.” 

“I am aware I cannot kill her,” Sir Harry said in equally hushed tones, though his attention never wavered from the evil witch who stalked ever closer, hands crackling with violent magical energy. 

“Pray tell me, Sir Knight, what is it you hope to achieve, then, by drawing your blade against the evil witch if you entertain no hopes of victory.” 

“I intend, your royal highness, to serve as a distraction while you slay the foul creature,” 

“What? I? With what weapon?” 

“With this arrow,” Sir Harry said, and pressed Niall’s arrow into Louis’ hands. 

“I see now I earlier misjudged you. You are a fool who wishes for death. There cannot be any other reason, for no other would ask me to slay a witch with an arrow but without a bow,” Louis said, voice thick with incredulity, anger, and fear all. 

At that moment, the witch lunged forward and Sir Harry swung his blade at her with a grunt, nicking her forearm and forcing her back for another moment. 

“It is the only chance we possess to have her slain,” Sir Harry growled and readied his fight stance once more. 

“Then we have no chance at all,” Prince Louis declared. 

The witch advanced again, hurling debris at Sir Harry with her magic, screaming obscenities all the while. The knight stumbled back, winded at the impact, but grunted and pushed past the pain to swing his blade and slice the witch’s cheek. “Do you trust me?” He asked the prince as the witch lurched back once more. 

“What does trust matter?”

“Do you trust me?” Sir Harry shouted, and pulled the prince to the floor with him to dodge the rubble with which the witch attacked. 

Panting and flush to the ground, the prince grit out, “There is no other I trust more, not even myself.” 

At the prince’s declaration, Sir Harry’s eyes softened and he said, pulling them to the side behind a partially-collapsed stone wall so that they might be protected a moment longer, “Then I ask that you trust me. I will incapacitate her, and then you will stab the arrow through her chest. It is the only way we will be free from her clutches.” 

The witch smashed debris once more against their shelter and Prince Louis nodded decisively. “Then I shall trust you to do as you say.”

Though they were in the middle of the battlefield, Sir Harry could not stave off the smile that spread across his face. “Thank you,” he said, before he darted from behind the shelter to engage the witch. 

Sir Harry at first held his own against Simona, but soon the witch’s attacks began to wear on him, and before long Sir Harry was only barely matching the witch. His efforts had been valiant, and the evil witch was weaker than she had been before she had engaged in battle with Sir Harry, but she was not yet weak enough for the prince to slay her without a bow. 

In his exhaustion, Sir Harry was unaware of the stone sitting behind him, and the prince’s world seemed to narrow down to the scene before him as he observed Sir Harry tumble backwards and the evil witch ready her fatal magic spell. 

Prince Louis cried out in words unintelligible, and before he was aware of what had transpired, a bow of pure, golden light had manifested in his hands and he had fired the arrow, which now protruded from the witch’s chest. 

It was elf magic, he realized. Elf magic had created the bow and elf magic had created the arrow. 

And with a bright flash, a piercing shriek, and a whipping gale of wind, the evil witch Simona was slain. 

The prince lowered the hand still gripping the warm gold of the bow and lurched to where Sir Harry lay on his back on the ground. Sir Harry was awake, and most of his injuries appeared to be superficial. At the knowledge of his safety, the prince let the tension bleed from his bones and he dipped his head forward to rest on Sir Harry’s own, bringing his free hand to rest above the knight’s heart. For a moment the two were silent, panting heavily.

“I think I would have preferred another dragon,” Prince Louis said finally. 

A weak laugh sprung from Sir Harry’s chest and he replied, pine-green eyes fluttering open to meet glacier-blue, “As would have I.” When their fleeting whimsy had passed, Sir Harry swallowed, throat suddenly thick and lifted his hand to cradle Prince Louis’ cheek. “I am glad to have you back, Louis, my dear prince.” 

Prince Louis’ eyes softened and he leaned forward, feeling his own throat growing thick and curling his fingers into Sir Harry’s hair, which had come loose after the knight had lost his helm during the battle, and pressed a kiss to Sir Harry’s lips. “And I am glad to be back with you, Harry, my dear knight. I could not have escaped without you. Thank you.” 

Sir Harry shook his head. “You know you need not thank me. There is nothing I would not do for your sake. My life is yours, now and evermore. I am selfish, and could not bear your absence from my life, and will always do anything I can to spare myself such a fate.” 

“I thank you because I am thankful for your deeds, regardless of your reasons for them. But,” Prince Louis’ voice quietened, "I appreciate your devotion, for I could not bear your absence from my life any more than you could bear mine. I suppose that makes the both of us terribly selfish creatures.” 

Sir Harry laughed softly and gave Prince Louis a small smile, “I suppose it does,” he agreed, “but I cannot say I am sorry for it.”

Prince Louis gave a laugh in return, “No, nor can I.” 

“Then we are in agreement. Selfish we two are, and selfish we will stay.” Sir Harry pressed a light kiss to the corner of the prince’s mouth and said, voice fond, “Shall we make for home?” 

“Home,” Prince Louis agreed. 

Prince Louis helped Sir Harry off the floor and the two slowly made their way out of the evil witch Simona’s once-lair. Retrieving his steed from where he’d left the beast to graze, the two mounted the creature before Sir Harry kicked his steed’s sides and the two began their return. 

⚔♕⚔

At their beloved prince’s return, the queendom rejoiced, and held celebrations in the gallant Sir Harry’s honour. At the sight of her only son’s safe return, the queen was moved to tears, and embraced her child tight to her breast before she called a feast for the weary journeyers. They dined late into the night until neither Sir Harry nor Prince Louis could hold their eyes open any longer, called to sleep as they were after the stress of their journey, the warmth of the food in their stomachs, and the heat of the crackling fire.

Seeing that they could not stave off slumber any longer, the queen bid the two to the prince’s chambers so that they might rest, and they were so exhausted neither could offer even a perfunctory protest at sharing bed before they were married.

Nevertheless, within a week, Sir Harry and Prince Louis were wed. From all corners of the land, people journeyed to witness their ceremony, held in the royal chapel atop the blue cornflower hill. With the chapel doors swung wide open, bright sunlight filled the chapel, and set aglow the white roses which lined the aisle and which were strung about the dais. Sir Harry, adorned in his newly-polished silver armour, gold-embroidered cobalt cape and newly-forged blade, and Prince Louis, adorned in matching gold-lined royal blue livery and a silvery fur cloak which skimmed the floor were that wintery afternoon thusly wed and crowned king and king consort.

And King Louis and King Consort Harry happily lived and loved until the end of their days and ever after.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Feel free to comment below if you're so inclined! If anybody spies any typos or mistakes, you're more than welcome to point them out and I'll happily go back and correct them when I get the chance. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! [Here](https://binarysunsetsblog.tumblr.com/post/179338705869/once-upon-a-cornflower-hill-written-by) is my tumblr and the fic post if anybody wants to follow and/or reblog it!


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